Breaking and Entering
by Michelle
Summary: It had been a long day, one that topped off an even longer week, and she wasn't looking forward to getting up and doing it all again in the morning. Set during the events of Iron Man 2.


_Just a PWP set during the events of Iron Man 2. What can I say? I was inspired by tumblr this morning. _

_Special thanks to eiluned for taking a peek at this before I posted!_

_More of Going the Distance is set for tomorrow, then shortly thereafter, I've got another semi-lengthy mission fic ready to go. Thanks to everyone for reading!_

* * *

It had been a long day, one that topped off an even longer week, and she wasn't looking forward to getting up and doing it all again in the morning. She was tired, her feet and calves were sore from the heels she'd been wearing, and all she wanted was a glass of wine and a hot bath.

All of that was probably why she missed the fact that someone was in her apartment until she was back in her bedroom, unbuttoning her blouse.

She'd just pulled the edge of her shirt out of her skirt when someone coughed from the other side of the room, over by her bed.

She whirled, training her gun on the source of the sound.

"Oh, don't stop on my account."

She lowered her weapon, placed it on the table beside her..

"Clint."

He leaned forward on his knees, the cocky grin she'd been missing stretched across his features.

"Expecting someone else?"

"You're living dangerously," she said instead of answering his question, and then she continued to unbutton her blouse. "I could have shot you."

His eyes fell to her cleavage, and he watched her like his namesake as she laid her shirt over the back of a chair.

"It was a risk I was willing to take," he said. He licked his lips. "Besides, you wouldn't shoot me."

She wouldn't.

If he weren't here, watching her with such interest, she'd probably take her bra off next. He was here though, in her bedroom, sitting on her damn bed, and she knew exactly what was on his mind. She was going to draw this out, at least until she figured out whether they had time for more interesting things or if he were just here at the behest of Fury.

She walked over to him slowly, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall, leaving it in a puddle on the floor behind her.

"Why are you here?" she asked, coming to a standstill between his legs.

His hands came up to her sides then, digging into her flesh. She watched as his eyes raked over her skin, as he took her in after so long apart.

He leaned in, pressing his face and the several days of stubble that covered his chin against her bare belly.

"Needed to see you," he said, and she could hear every moment of the two months they'd been apart thick in his voice. Yeah, she'd missed him, too, and she was glad for the confirmation that they had time for this, for them to relearn the planes of each other's body because she needed this, needed him to remind her that she wasn't Natalie, but Natasha, Tasha, his partner, Nat.

He nuzzled her with his chin, thoroughly distracting her from her musings, and his hands were elsewhere, traveling down her body, grasping at her hips, her thighs, her ass.

"Oh," she said nonchalantly (or, tried to, at least. Her voice was far breathier than she'd like to admit). "So you're just here for a booty call?"

He chuckled, and the deep rumble cut into her, hitting her in the gut and running up and down her spine. She felt her nipples tighten instantly, and wetness pooled between her legs, and dammit she was glad he was here, expected or not.

"I'm here to do whatever you want me to do," he said, sliding his hands along the edge of her panties, teasing her with the pads of his fingers.

"I want you to fuck me," she said simply, cutting straight to the point because he was here and she was horny, and they were obviously on the same page, so why even bother?

He laughed again, and she squirmed in his grasp, well past ready for him to tear the rest of her clothes off. He grabbed her tits instead though, squeezing her and running his thumbs over her nipples, teasing her through the thin fabric of her bra.

He pulled the cups down over the swell of her breasts, exposing her to the slightly cool air in her apartment. He used one arm to grab her around her back, pulling her close until she was flush against him, and then he drew one hard nipple into his mouth then the other, sucking and nibbling and squeezing her with his free hand.

Her head lolled back, and she wasn't sure how she was still standing except that he was supporting her, holding her up when her legs would have failed her.

"I ever tell you how much I love your tits?" he growled, staring up at her, and she thought she might come just from the way he looked as he sucked her back into his mouth.

She cried out, unable to restrain the noise that worked its way out of her throat, and then she couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't take the teasing, so she pushed him flat onto his back. Taken off guard, his eyes widened for a moment, almost as if he were affronted, but then she was working on his pants, unzipping him, and he moved to help her. He lifted his hips, and she tugged firmly, pulling off his pants and underwear in one motion, and she was glad he'd thought to take off his shoes when he walked in because it just made all of this easier.

His cock sprang free when she stripped him, and he bobbed under her gaze, the telltale glisten of precome moistening the tip of his glans. And maybe it really had been too long since she'd seen him because instead of just getting on top of him, instead of sitting on him like she'd intended, she found herself leaning to take him into her mouth, bending over him and sucking on the thick length of his cock.

"Shit!" he shouted when she swallowed him down, and he bucked upward when she grasped his balls, tugging gently on his flesh, the way she knew he really liked. She could feel him tightening up underneath her palms, felt his balls retract up into his body and his cock jump against her tongue.

She wanted to keep going, wanted to suck his cock until he erupted into her mouth, until she felt him spurting down her throat, and fuck just the thought of swallowing his come was making her wetter. She slid a hand down her own body, humming a tuneless song to heighten his pleasure, and she easily found her clit, sliding through her wet folds and flicking herself in time to her motions above.

She felt him twitch dangerously, and then his hand was in her hair, tugging her off his cock.

"Don't think I don't want to do that, baby," he said as she gasped for air. "But it's been two months since I've seen you, and I really need to come in your pussy first."

He noticed what her lower hand was doing then, noticed that she was still masturbating as he spoke, and his cock twitched in response. Cursing once more, he slid his eyes away, not looking at her.

"Do you have the slightest idea what you're doing to me right now?" he asked, and it was probably rhetorical, but she nodded anyway.

"Yes."

His eyes rolled back in his head a little, and it was gratifying to see that she hadn't lost her touch, that she could still reduce him to this state without much effort at all. He was gorgeous in front her, a sight for sore eyes, beautiful and disheveled with his shirt rucked up and exposing the lower reach of his abdomen. She hungrily drank the sight of him in, the thick ropes of muscle that comprised his thighs, his red, hard cock jutting up from the join of his legs, and she needed to see him, all of him - his chest, the muscles of his shoulders and arms - she wanted to watch him strain as he moved.

"Take off your shirt," she demanded, her voice hoarse with arousal, and she might be embarrassed except this was Clint, and it was impossible to feel that way around somebody who filled in all the gaps in your life, who made you a better person.

He obeyed, of course he did, and he pulled his t-shirt over his head, sliding further back on the bed to make more room for her. She didn't join him there, not just yet, but instead reached behind her back to unhook her bra, tossing it carelessly away, and then she inched her panties down over her hips, inch by inch, grinning when he couldn't stop himself from pumping his cock.

"Oh, goddammit, Nat, just climb on top of me already," he said, half-exasperated, half-amused, and she gave in, scrambling up onto the bed. She straddled him, well past ready for him, and she braced her hands lightly on his shoulders. He reached down between them, grabbing his cock and helping her slide down onto him. He was thick, thicker than she really remembered because imagination and masturbation was a poor substitute for Clint between her thighs.

She moaned like she was in a cheaply produced porno as he stretched her, filling her so tightly that she thought she might snap, but his hands were warm on her hips and he sat back as she took him, letting her set the pace.

"Fuck!" she breathed, her head thrown back in ecstasy when her ass finally met the tops of his thighs. She was throbbing with need, mindless with it, and she didn't know how she'd made do with just her fingers to keep her company.

"Jesus, you feel good," he said bucking underneath her. She clenched her inner muscles around him, and he sucked in a ragged breath, obviously as close to the edge as she was.

Her hands travelled up her body to play with her nipples as she rode him, raising and lowering herself on her knees slowly as she re-accustomed herself to his body. He helped her along, guiding her with a sure hand on her waist and sliding the other to where their bodies met to finger her clit as they moved.

An especially satisfying moan his only warning, he sat up, bracing all of his weight on one arm and changing the angle of his hips, and each thrust hit her in just the right spot, causing little jolts of pleasure to wash through her with every movement.

He kissed her then, at last, and she hadn't even realized how much she'd missed the taste of his saliva until she was confronted with it again, and she couldn't get enough of it, sucking on his lips, his tongue, lapping at his teeth and the edges of his mouth, taking in all the things that had been nothing but memory so recently.

He flipped her to her back, and she expected him to fuck her harder, faster, to pull his lips from hers, but instead he bent back down, claiming her mouth again. She brought her legs up around his waist, tightened her grasp as he thrust into her, and she could feel that familiar tension coiling at the base of her spine.

"Clint," she mumbled against his lips, but there was no reason for it, except that she needed to say his name, wanted the syllable on her lips as she pounded her. He must have felt the same because he echoed her name back, and it was great, so great to be here with him, to have him moving inside of her, to be in the arms of the one person who knew her better than anyone, and then she was there, shaking around him, spasming and crying out his name, a ragged curse into the air, and there were explosions behind her eyes, fireworks that shorted out her brain as she rode wave after wave of pleasure.

He was still hard and thrusting into her when she came back to herself, his face red with exertion while she sighed and stretched languidly. He made a low, frustrated noise, and she could tell that the position wasn't working for him, that he wasn't going to make it from this angle. She knew from long experience that he was a very visual person, and it was just as much the picture she presented as it was the feel of her wet cunt squeezing his cock that would make him lose his cool.

She touched his face to get his attention. "How do you want me?"

"On your knees," he said, and it sounded like a question, which was ridiculous because the way he made her feel she'd do whatever he wanted with the hope that she could somehow make him feel the same.

He slid out of her, and she turned over, raising herself up on her hands and knees.

"Like this?" she asked, turning a wicked grin over her shoulder and wagging her ass invitingly at him.

He wiped the grin right off her face with the look on his, the raw, open mouthed desire she saw there. She'd missed that look, missed him with every step that took her further away from him, and she wished she had a camera so she could store the sight to keep her warm when he was gone. Then he was on his knees too, and he grabbed her by the hips and sunk back into her all the way to the hilt, and she forgot all about being lonely because he was there right then, his hands on her sides and pumping into her and this was as close to perfect as her life ever got.

She felt herself tighten back up as he fucked her, and she knew it wouldn't take much for her to come again, not like this, not the way she felt right then. He must have known it, too, must have felt her pussy quiver around him, and he reached around her body to grab her tits, pinching her nipples and sending sparks of sharp pleasure through her body.

She pitched forward, her face now pressed into one of her pillows, unable to keep her weight on her hands, and then his fingers moved down to her pussy to play with her clit as he fucked into her, and she was close, so very close . . .

He shouted her name, the pressure of his right hand at the crook of her hip tightening almost to the point of pain, and she felt him come, felt his cock jerk inside of her and it was enough to send her over the edge after him, her own cries of pleasure muffled into the pillow.

They rolled bonelessly to their sides, and she relaxed into him, relishing the way he cradled her against his chest as their breathing returned to normal.

"Call in sick," he said into the side of her neck. "Spend tomorrow in bed with me."

She groaned and rolled closer to him, twisting around and putting her thigh over his hip in an effort to get closer.

"You know I can't do that."

She couldn't, she shouldn't because there were always a thousand and one things that she needed to do before breakfast. Stark and Potts were running her ragged, and she had one hell of a lot of respect for Potts, who'd done both of their jobs for so long by herself.

"Please?" he asked, looking at her with big, wide eyes. "Potts can deal without you for one day. She'll understand."

She could, and she would, of course, because she was Pepper Potts, and she was frighteningly competent, but Natasha had a job to do here. She raised one eyebrow at him, still trying valiantly to resist his charms.

"Fury won't," she said. Despite her protests, Clint had her, and she was already mentally rehearsing her excuses.

He ran his hand down her spine, and she shivered at the touch. Oh, fuck, she wanted him again.

"C'mon," he murmured, his hand now on her ass. She felt him stir against her as he clutched her flesh, and she definitely wasn't thinking straight.

"Okay," she managed, letting him pull on her hair, tipping her head back so he could lick her throat.

"Good," he said, sucking on the hollow of her throat. "Because I can't possibly fuck you in all the ways I've been dreaming about by morning."

She chuckled as he worked his way down her body.


End file.
